Tailswishing Continues Without Offensive As Memorial Day Approaches

Increasing hostilities between the cat and squirrel continue unabated.  The cat has taken up a defensible position among the shrubbery ever closer to to the squirrel’s maple tree stronghold.  The squirrel has declared it will continue to munch maple tree helicopters until the supply is exhausted, and has layed out future plans for nesting.  

Resolution to this situation seems far away.  

When the dog was asked to comment on the standoff, he would only say that both combatants looked pretty tasty.  

Other than that, not a whole lot happening.  I’m told that it’s Memorial Day weekend.  And it must be, gas went up ten cents this morning.  That’s a sure sign.  

I’m not even sure that I knew that Memorial Day existed when I was a kid.  My a-folks were in retail so at least one of them was working that day.  My a-family has remained untouched by any military deaths since the civil war that I ever knew of, and they weren’t big picnicers.  So it was just another day for us.

It wasn’t until I married thatthe concept of decorating graves was even known to me.  I grew up far from any extended adoptive family, and other than losing my adoptive maternal grandfather in my early teens, I never attended a furneral.  My husband’s family had a much closer connection to family and community in both life and death.  

My mother-in-law, as well as other extended in laws, visit and decorate graves.  The first time I went with them I was amazed at how they could walk through the cemeteries and have some connection to the people buried there.  Family, friends, business associates, or someone who had died in an interesting manner, were all recalled and discussed.  these stories stretched back to well before even the oldest among them could possibly remember.  Some of the stories had to have been from those whose stories were being told.  

Visiting these graves was not a sad excursion.  It wasn’t an extension of mourning, it was simply recollection.  Stories of childhood, spouses, off hand comments they had made, both cutting and complimentary, anything that recalled that person.  Some graves were stopped at, some only noted as we passed by.  

That feeling of connection was alien to me.  It was something that I had never been exposed to.  It wasn’t just a family connection that I had missed, it was the connection to people in general.  My a-family wasn’t social which had to have a lot to do with this, but there was more.  Nobody in my a-family ever seemed to have a desire to have any connection like this.  They just didn’t seem to need it.  They were satisfied with only their own company.  

I still have no graves to visit.  In the last few years, both of my adoptive gandmothers have passed on, as well as my natural mother.  I could find the graves of my a-grandmothers, though I have never visited them.  The grave of my mother is still a mystery to me.  It really doesn’t matter because I won’t visit any of them.  I don’t feel any connection.

I think maybe a sense of family and community has to be learned early in life.  Once we are grown, it’s too late.


Of Twitter and Squirrels

I’m having more fun watching my tweets than I should.  I’ve somehow picked up some followers that I decided to follow, mainly because they seem to have some kind of association with adoption.

My fave right now seems to be a christian music groupie.  Her tweets pining for the objects of her affection just slay me.  She counts the miles they are away from her and sends them blessings.  Yesterday she was soliciting for someone to buy her a ticket to Finland just to be nearer her favorite.  It’s all kind of amusing and sad in a 13 year-old wet panties way.  she has a picture that looks like a very sweet little girl.  somehow you just know she’s really a pig in Walmart stretch pants.

I have another known as “borninmyheart” yeah, borninmyheart) who seems to have jumped on to everyone who has ever mentioned adoption in a tweet.  I’m not exactly sure what they are up to yet, but so far they seem to like the word distasteful.  I wonder if she has seen my blog?  

Other than that it’s pretty much liberal versus conservative politics nad every kind of adoption information and angst.  

Not much else going on in Addie’s wolrld.  Just doing the Spring thing, trying to get the garden in around torrential rain storms, working, and trying to get some plans firmed up for the summer.  

My cat is currently engaged in what looks to be a never ending war with a squirrel.  She seems to think that the squirrel is trying to set up a settlement in a tree that is ancestrally hers.  So far there has been a lot of tail swishing and chattering, but no engagement.  The Vegas bookmakers have the squirrel at 5-3 odds.  I’m putting my money on the cat.

Trinkets Of My Ingratitude

A conversation with a friend brought up an interesting image. She remarked,  as an adopted little angel, I must require a halo welded to my sweet head.  I replied that I thought that I could pull it off if I could wrap it with the trinkets of my ingratitude.  

I could just see myself as the towheaded angel that I once was, clad in a white robe, resplendent with my golden halo, wrapped in jingling sparkly charms representing all of my sins.   It reminded me of the charm bracelet that I had as a child that represented all my virtues.  

My charm bracelet was sterling silver, and so were the charms, that was pretty impressive in those days.  It was my first piece of real jewelry.  I had a charm with a musical note because I was taking piano lessons.  A charm with a four leaf clover  because I was lucky.  There was a charm with a little girl carrying books because I went to school.

My adoptive mother bought me the charm bracelet at the local jewelry store.  This was a place of wonder, full of grown up things that you had to be very careful around.  They had glass shelves full of fancy glass vases and candy dishes in beautiful colors I’d never seen before. Lite from the bottom,   I thought they were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.  They had long cases filled with gold and silver and gems that looked like contents of the treasure chests in my books.  There was a display of gold paged Bibles with illustrations in glowing colors that seemed to have had to have come from heaven.  

We didn’t buy much in the jewelery store, my adoptive mom liked practical things.  But one day mom decided that I needed a charm bracelet.  We walked into the jewelry store, past the lite up shelves that rattled ever so slightly with our footsteps, threatening to send the precious objects to the floor.  I felt butterflies in my stomach  and was relived to get to the back of the store without incident.

A woman that seemed so old that she might break if touched showed us a tray of silver bracelets.  There were so many to choose from, delicate ones with thin links, more substantial ones with heavy links, and one made up of delicate links fused together, I chose that one.   Then there were the charms, hundreds of them, made to represent everything I could think of, and some I couldn’t figure out.  My mother told me that we would pick out a few charms today and I could have new ones when I earned them.  I got the musical note and the four leaf clover that day.  The old lady took the bracelet to the back, attached the charms and wrapped it up on a satin lined box.  I wasn’t as nervous passing the rattling glass shelves with my little box on the way out.  

I was only to wear the bracelet on special occasions and to church.  Mom and I put it safely in my jewelry box that played Fur Elise and had the ballerina that spun in front of a mirror when opened.  

I earned more charms, a little Scottie dog when I got a puppy, a rose zircon was a birthday gift.  My bracelet would jingle on my wrist now.  I wore it to my cousin’s wedding, and out to dinner at The Green Circle, a very fancy restaurant where they served Shirley Temples.  I always wore it to church.   

There was one charm that I wanted more than anything.  It was a Bible, that had a little peephole you could look into and see the Lord’s Prayer.  It was like magic.  Mother told me I could have it if I memorized the Lord’s Prayer.  

It wasn’t easy, it took a while, and there was some controversy over if I was to forgive sins or trespasses, but I did it.  I memorized the Lord’s Prayer and got that charm.  

I was quite the hit at Sunday school that week. Nobody else had ever seen anything like that charm.  I refused to remove the bracelet, fearing it’s loss, and made everyone peer into the little Bible while I held up my wrist. My Sunday school teacher was even impressed.  

I couldn’t wait to get home from church to tell my mother, who never attended church herself, about how much everyone had liked the charm.  I never got home with that bracelet, it must have slipped off my wrist on the way home.  I was devastated.  Mother and I retraced my steps, but the bracelet wasn’t found.  Mother even hired a man with a metal detector to look for it the next week.  Nothing was found.  The bracelet was lost.  All of the representations of my virtues were never to be found again.  

I believe my friend was right, they should have welded a halo to my head.  It would have been harder to lose.  Would those representations of my virtues turned to trinkets of my ingratitude eventually?  Who is to know?